


After the Show

by enigmaticblue



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Experimental Style, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short, experimental piece set after Showtime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Show

They laid him on the bed they had prepared, though it might have been a bier, so still, so broken was he. Voices drifted around him, washing over him, but still he lay unmoving, not yet willing to completely believe that this wasn’t a dream. She had seemed so real when she had come to him, and her eyes had been real, and the emotion behind them. And yet in his unbeating heart was the fear that he would open his eyes to her face, and then it would be her face no longer.

 

While he was grateful for the cessation of the torture, his body ached and throbbed with old wounds. They had not fed him and he was weak from pain and blood loss and hunger. He could almost wish for death, but she needed him and so he had fought to stay alive, to stay hers. His soul belonged to her; she was the one he had risked all for, she was the one who had made him believe he might yet keep it.

 

Warm hands touched him, lifted him, encircled his as his fingers were wrapped around the smooth sides of a coffee mug. He did not bother opening his eyes. The smell was rife in his nostrils, and he knew what it was she offered. Besides, one eye had long since swollen shut, and he hadn’t the strength to open the other. He could feel her shoulder supporting him, her hands on his, her breath against his cheek, though she said nothing. Draining the mug, he felt her pull back, felt her lay him gently down, and he wanted to call to her. To ask her not to leave, to have her close by him so that he knew it was not a dream. But he hadn’t the right to ask, and so he stayed silent and still, wishing briefly, again, for death. Or, better yet, he wished for oblivion.

 

A new sensation caused his one good eye to flutter open in surprise. She passed the warm cloth over his face again and smiled to see his startled reaction. Cleaning off days of dirt and blood and sweat, she passed it over his face, his chest, his arms. And when she was finished, she pulled a blanket up over him and turned to leave.

 

He called out after her, reminding her of who he was, of the inherent danger he carried. You’ll have to use the chains, he said hoarsely, his voice as broken as the rest of him.

 

She thought he sounded as though every cigarette he’d ever smoked had finally come to coat his words with their harsh layers. He sounded crushed, but it was his words themselves that arrested her. He was too weak, she argued. Later, when he was stronger, more of a threat, they would need to consider it, but for now they could let it be. He was safe; they were safe. There was no need.

 

Fear thickened his voice, and his dark blue eyes met hers with the same pleading look he had used in the other basement. Wouldn’t she help him? He didn’t want to hurt her again.

 

She realized suddenly, painfully, that the chains were not for her peace of mind, they were for his. He needed to know that he could not hurt anyone else, and she was the only one who could guarantee it. She came back to stand at his bedside, looking down at him, the pain in her eyes matching that in his. Only when I’m not with you, she whispered, as she snapped the manacles in place.

 

There was a certain safety in chains, he knew. A sense of protection and trust, at least when it came to her. To anyone else, with anyone else, it would mean a loss of freedom, a loss of dignity. At this point, it came as a relief, to know that he could sleep and not worry about waking up a monster in man’s clothing.

 

He closed his eyes again and let the velvety darkness enfold him, keeping him in its embrace. He woke only to be fed and washed and then slept again, his trust in his keeper perfect. On the third day, he woke to the sounds of jangling and the feel of weight being lifted off his wrists, and felt a surge of panic. Fear laced his voice as he asked what she was doing, and she told him kindly to shut up.

 

He sat up easily on his own now, and though he knew his strength had not returned completely, he also knew what he was capable of now. But she sat next to him, watching as he drank the lifeblood of another living creature. When he had finished, he handed the mug back to her, waiting for her to replace the chains. What was she waiting for?

 

She pressed him down against sheets cool from his skin and from the basement air, telling him he needed more rest, but he pointed to the chains insistently. I can’t hurt again, he told her. Pleading with her to protect him.

 

I told you only when I’m not with you. Her voice was calm, her hand touched his forehead, his skin white and smooth as marble. He stared up at her, not understanding, wondering at her gentleness; she had never been like this with him before. Or had she? Images flashed through his mind: she was in his crypt, her kiss like life itself upon his lips, telling him what he’d done was real; her hands touching him as she told him that she would protect him from the demon that haunted his mind; her touch on his face, telling him she believed in him. She was as fickle as the sea it seemed, and possibly as dangerous. He was drowning in her. When this was all over, he could die for her and be happy.

 

Slowly, her eyes never leaving his, she lay down next to him on the bed, careful not to jar his still raw skin and healing bones. Her head nestled in his shoulder, her arm crossing his chest. It was a different kind of chain, a different kind of manacle, holding her to him as surely as anything forged of iron. Why? His voice seemed to echo through the basement gloom, a world’s worth of questions hanging between them.

 

Because it’s you, was all she would say, and she lay there, holding him, until morning came and chased the rest of the shadows away.


End file.
